


Y2K

by Greekhoop



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greekhoop/pseuds/Greekhoop
Summary: On the eve of a new millennium, Lestat waits for a change to come.
Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Y2K

**Author's Note:**

  * For [covenofthearticulate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/covenofthearticulate/gifts).



> Happy holidays to the lovely theballadofmrslovett. I hope you enjoy your gift!

On the eve of the new millennium, they went out together amongst the mortals. It was the first time in a while. 

In a sustained siege the likes of which the modern era had never seen, Lestat had spent weeks beforehand trying to get Louis to agree to the simple proposition: Be in New York with him at midnight to witness this event that even their kind would only see a handful of times, if they were lucky.

“Time is a social construct,” Louis informed him tartly.

Lestat could scarcely argue with that, but he did have stubbornness on his side. By the day after Christmas, he had managed to extract a promise that Louis would be in attendance on New Year’s Eve. 

He had the distinct impression that Louis would have liked to have made a dramatic entrance at the last possible second, apparating into Times Square at a minute to midnight in a swirl of black mist and the flutter of dark wings. However, time zones being what they were, he was forced to fly out from San Francisco the night before. 

Time, it seemed, was not so much of a social construct now.

Lestat was careful not to voice that sentiment, or anything else that Louis might consider gauche or lowbrow, which was how he viewed most jokes and all teasing. It was one of his more exasperating habits, but Lestat was resolved not to be annoyed. If ever there was a time to start a new chapter, jettison some of his old bad habits, this was it. 

He met Louis at the airport in the cold hours of dawn with a bouquet of poinsettias. “Beautiful and deadly,” he said as he handed them over. “They remind me of someone I know.”

“It’s a myth, you know,” Louis said. “Poinsettias aren’t actually poisonous.”

He moved the bouquet to his nose, not quite quickly enough to hide a smile behind the spray of red leaves, and inhaled their wet, earthy scent. Lestat had been able to smell them all the way over here, like mushrooms poking out of the damp ground. Though Lestat had been put off by the poinsettias’ stubborn refusal to behave like flowers, Louis seemed to like them well enough. He had always claimed to find roses cloying.

As Lestat escorted him out to the car, he said, “I’m glad you could make it. I feel like I haven’t seen you in an age.”

“You always knew just where to find me,” Louis said. “I’m not the one who takes every little ripple and murmur as an excuse to go running off.”

“I suppose that’s all you think this is too? An excuse? Well, if it is then it’s only an excuse to spend time with you.”

Louis’ eyes shifted in his direction, just barely, taking the measure of him. “Since when do you need an excuse for that?” 

“I don’t,” Lestat admitted. “But this is a good one all the same. It’s an _event_ , and we’ll surely regret it if we miss it.”

“Really?” Louis replied. “It all seemed a bit constructed to me. A bit… touristy.”

“They say none of the computers are programmed to handle the switch to a new century. The financial systems are going to fail. Everything is going to go haywire. Don’t you want to be there for that? I know how much you adore a good secular apocalypse.”

Louis tilted his nose into the air to show just how little he thought of that. “Those are just stories.”

“All the cars will stop running. Planes will fall out of the sky.”

“That’s absurd. Most cars don’t even run on computer software. Why would they be affected? You really need to become more technically literate, my dove.”

“Like you?”

“Which of us bought 600 shares of Microsoft stock the day it went public?”

“I don’t need anything bourgeois like that. I get royalties.”

“Ah, yes,” Louis replied. “I get those, too.”

***

It was close to dawn when they arrived back at Lestat’s building. They took the private elevator up to the penthouse, which was a series of sharp chromed angles and expansive white surfaces. Past the immaculately made-up bedroom, one of the innumerable walk-in closets had been outfitted with a heavy lock on the inside door and black velvet curtains on every wall.

Lestat’s cherrywood coffin had been moved to the back to make room for a second coffin in unadorned ebony, the one set aside for guests.

“Apologies for the close quarters,” he said breezily. And then, as if he did not live in a 52nd floor cavern of curated art and spotless harwood, he continued, “Space is at a premium in this city. I don’t know how these landlords sleep at night.”

Assuming that Louis would complain, Lestat didn’t wait for him to set in before he swept back into the bedroom to collect his things for the night. On his dressing table and in his medicine cabinet he had amassed a great collection of creams and oils, none of which he needed, of course, but which he bought dutifully whenever he saw them at the high end department stores and men’s magazines. He liked the ritual of their application.

When he glanced back, he saw that Louis was watching him closely, with an elevated smile on his lips. 

“Leave those alone,” he said. “I don’t want you smelling like a candle store.”

Lestat finished dabbing a cream so light it was almost translucent around his eyes, and then he acquiesced, coming over to where Louis waited imperiously by the door to the closet. He did not move at all, but Lestat had the distinct sense that Louis was relaxing into him, straining in his direction with a motion that did not account for any movement at all.

He bridged the last gap between them, catching Louis around the waist. It was so narrow, his hands could almost fit around it, just as he had always remembered. He leaned in for a kiss, and Louis turned so that he only caught the corner of his mouth. This, too, he remembered well, and he lingered, turning the cheek-to-cheek formality into a fire of passion.

When he leaned back at last, Louis was watching him with sharp, bright, unreadable eyes. 

“I don’t like the black,” he said, indicating the coffins that lay side by side with the closeness of a familial crypt. “It’s so plain. Perhaps we could share.”

Lestat didn’t have to be asked twice.

***

When he awoke the next evening, Lestat could already hear the cacophony from the direction of Central Park. Millions of humans, all amassing in preparation for the great event. What could they know of the terrible passage of time that had brought them all here, Lestat thought with a sudden viciousness that surprised him. The suffering of millions, the injustice of billions, that had led them to this latest iteration of the endless thousand-year cycle.

Frowning, Lestat extracted himself from the arm draped over his chest, the leg twined around his own. He tucked Louis back in, knowing that he would sleep soundly until the sky was fully dark. It was plenty of time to shake off this black mood that had gripped him by the throat, this petulant desire to find fault, which had sunk its teeth into him and refused to let go.

This was carnivale, the season he had always adored. Leave the complaining and cynical platitudes to Louis; they suited him better.

With that as his mantra, he began to go through the motions of his waking routine. It was as elaborate as the one he practiced before sleep, and just as pointless in its vanity, but Louis would not be up for a while and he felt that he had to do something.

The planes would fall from the sky, they had said. All commerce and communication would grind to a halt. It seemed terribly amusing from the great distance of his penthouse rooms. No one could say it would be boring; it would take a certain type of mortal to thrive in that environment. Surely they would be the resourceful and creative and ruthless type that Lestat so loved. 

Of course, it would not happen like that. After the great charivari of the night, things would go on much as they had before. Louis had assured him of as much, and, though he often misinterpreted things, he was rarely wrong when it came to assessing the great ebb and flow of history. Never as wrong as he ought to have been, seeing as he was so determined to live outside of time.

Lestat paused in what he was doing. It seemed so obvious now, and yet it had taken Louis’ arrival for him to realize it: Tomorrow evening, when they rose to confront a new epoch of Man, nothing would really be different at all.

He set down the bottle of aftershave he was holding and scowled at his pale inscrutable face in the mirror. It felt as if he was really seeing it for the first time in years, and he noticed immediately that it had not changed in the slightest. It never did.

Could he really endure this? Another thousand years of writing books that were increasingly poorly received, hunting for truth and beauty like a pig rooting for rare truffles. Chasing Louis who appeared before him only for an instant at a time, never drawing any closer, the fata morgana of his endless existence.

Was this really all the next millennium was to be?

A soft sound behind him appeared like a lifeline to save him from his thoughts. Louis had just awakened and stirred from the closet-crypt. He stood in the doorway, the top two buttons at the throat of his flannel bedclothes undone, the saucy minx.

“I’m not terribly late, am I?” he said in a throaty voice.

“You’re not late at all,” Lestat replied. His own voice sounded strained to his ears, but Louis did not seem to notice. He came forward, picking up Lestat’s abandoned bottle of aftershave and giving it a disdainful sniff.

“I see you’ve spent the time preparing a veritable witches’ brew.”

“It’s just habit,” Lestat said. “The smell goes away.”

Louis sniffed the bottle again, and then upended it to dab the smallest possible droplet onto the side of his throat. It reacted at once with his own natural scent, producing a potent musk that made Lestat’s mouth water.

“You know,” Lestat said all at once, with an urgency that was unlike him, “We don’t have to go tonight. It’s just another silly party.”

Louis glanced towards him, startled. “I had heard it was a once-in-a-millennium party.”

He turned away, trailing his hands over the assorted bottles on Lestat’s dressing table. “I apologize if I was snappish last night. You know what air travel does to me. Of course we will go. We’ll countdown the seconds, and we we’ll kiss at midnight, and we’ll make resolutions to last us the next thousand years. We will follow all the customs of the age, as we live in this age now, like travellers from a distant shore.”

When next he glanced back, the expression on Lestat’s face must have dismayed him, because he frowned slightly. “I’m looking forward to it, my darling. Really, I’m glad you make the effort to drag me out once in a while. I would never forgive myself if I missed the planes falling from the sky.”

***

Lestat had bought tickets to a party in one of the rooftop clubs that ringed Times Square. High above the maddening crowd that had amassed below, he had Louis were ushered into a maze of tables and neon lighting. The music was loud, urgent, and not nearly enough to drown out the screams from the street below, the one sound that Lestat’s sensitive ears had latched onto and refused to release.

“Oh, this is positively dreadful,” Louis said, but he laughed even before the words were out. “Thank you for bringing me. I never would have attempted such a thing on my own.”

He touched Lestat’s arm, finding it tense and unsupple beneath his hand. “Darling, are you all right? You are mercifully and yet uncharacteristically quiet tonight.”

“I’m fine,” Lestat said. “I’m perfect, in fact. I simply felt the press of so many eyes when I walked into this room with you. It’s a lot of pressure, being as perfect as us, don’t you think?”

Louis laughed again, a low sound in the back of his throat. “So you’re finding it hard to perform? Well, perhaps I can do something to stir that sluggish blood of yours. I know exactly how to make your tender heart yearn.”

Without another word, he released Lestat’s arm and, in the space between one blink and the next, made his way to the bar that thrust its marble bulk out into the VIP section of the club. The crowd parted before him, and he found a seat without trouble, next to a tall woman with black hair cropped short and a black dress that was cut equally as close.

Lestat recognized her at once. Keiko Rei had closed the Jean Paul Gaultier show at Fashion Week. Louis, of course, did not know that. He saw only the most beautiful woman in the room, the one most calculated to raise the heat of jealousy in Lestat’s breast, and so he went to her and drew her to the depthless green of his eyes.

It was an old game, perhaps the oldest of the many that they played with each other. It had not changed much over the centuries, and it would not change whatsoever was to come.

The realization made a cold knot form in Lestat’s stomach. Let civilizations come and go, let the sky fall down upon them in a rain of metal and fire. All of that might come to pass, and yet they would not change. He would still be stuck here, trapped in the spaces between glances that Louis shot in his direction to ensure that he was still watching, still following the script they had written for each other and now could never deviate from.

Feeling a sudden tightness in his throat, Lestat tore his eyes away from Louis’ profile and looked around. Women and men - mortals all - swirled around him in a mass of sequins and lace. They were all strangers to him, unfriendly natives of a hostile land. He could not think of a single word to say to them, not one thing he could do that would not instantly mark him as utterly alien and strange.

He caught sight of the digital clock hanging over the bar, counting down the time until midnight. It was just past 10. 

Feeling that he had suddenly been granted the prescience to know the moment of his own demise, Lestat turned abruptly and fled. He cut through the crowd, to the stairs that led up to the roof. It was not as crowded there, most of the crowd preferring to linger inside until closer to midnight. Lestat went out to the high glass barrier that ringed the edge of the roof. It was dark out there, beyond the lights from the party, and the practical chill of a New York winter settled around him, gripping him.

Though the sound from the street was still deafening, it was not enough to drown out the familiar footsteps that appeared behind him a few minutes later.

“There you are,” came Louis’ soft voice. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” Lestat said. He did not turn back to face Louis, and so the scowl that accompanied those words was directed towards the city instead. “I just needed a little air.”

Louis came up beside him, standing so close that their shoulders could brush. “Ms. Rei is a lovely young woman. Very serious, though. She was scandalized I don’t have a website. She says you must build your online brand if you’re going to survive the next millennium.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Lestat admitted.

“Neither do I,” Louis replied. He slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out a business card, showing it to Lestat. Keiko Rei, it seemed, had a side business as a web designer. 

“I heard she was just signed by Cover Girl. Surely she doesn’t need the money.”

“She had a lot to say about that, as well. Marketable skills for a changing economy. She told me all about the growth of online commerce. Amazon.com’s pivot to general sales.”

“It must have been dreadfully boring for you, darling. I’m sorry.”

“Boring?” Louis echoed. “Frankly, I was terrified.”

He pushed the card into Lestat’s hand. “Here. Keep it. I’m sure you’ll find a use for it before I do. For your literary endeavors, I mean.”

Lestat slipped the card into his pocket. He looked up, into the night sky that was rendered a uniform and starless gray by the lights of the city. High above, he could make out the faint shape of a plane flying over.

“Look,” he said.

“It’s still up there, for now.”

“So it is.”

Louis reached over and took his arm companionably. “Do you want to know the truth? This whole affair has me feeling very old.”

“Me, too,” Lestat admitted.

“It’s a bad party.”

“I’m sorry,” Lestat said.

Louis shrugged, a slight casual gesture that absolved him utterly of all blame. “Let’s go home. We can watch all of this on television. That way, if everything goes wrong at midnight, we’ll have plenty of time to board up the windows and doors to keep out the looters.”

“That sounds romantic, darling.”

***

Back in the penthouse, Lestat fumbled with the excess of remote controls on the coffee table until got the television to work. He tuned in live footage of Times Square, the illuminated ball still suspended high above the crowd below, two million strong.

“It’s on,” he called to Louis. “Come in here.”

Louis appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. He had shed his tie and suit jacket. “I thought you were going to come in here.”

Lestat froze where he was. He knew that tone of voice, though he hadn’t heard it in a while. He turned, just in time to see Louis disappear back into the bedroom. 

Tossing off his coat and toeing out of his shoes, he gave chase, the hunter to the hart.

He caught up to him by the bed, slipping an arm around Louis’ waist and turning him so that he could find his lips for a kiss. To his surprise, Louis put up almost no coy resistance at all. He twisted his hands in Lestat’s collar and toppled them back onto the bed.

“I’ll go slow,” Lestat panted between their mouths.

“No need,” Louis replied. He gave Lestat’s collar a tug, sending buttons scattering in all directions, pinging off the innumerable hard surfaces that made up the bedroom. “Once more, before the end of the world.”

“Don’t tease me like that,” Lestat panted. He could hear Louis’ heart pounding, beating an indelible tattoo that resonated in time with Lestat’s own.

No matter how much time passed, they were still in sync. The world might fall down around their ears at the stroke of midnight, and at least they would have that.

Tired of waiting, Louis dug one heel into the mattress and flipped Lestat over onto his back, repositioning himself so that he knelt astride his hips. “Did you check the time while you were out there?” he asked, pushing his hair back with one hand, tucking the thick black waves behind his ear.

“The what?” Lestat echoed dumbly.

“The time,” Louis said. He had started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a wedge of perfect and unmarred creamy white skin that stretched from his collarbones to his navel. “Until midnight.”

“A half hour,” Lestat gasped out. He reached up for Louis, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. Louis let the garment slide down his arms, briefly twisting them around his wrists so that he was bound like a saint in the midst of the passion.

Lestat raised himself so that he could reach the exposed column of Louis’ throat, kissing the spot where his blue blood throbbed beneath the skin. He knew from the way that Louis arched his back, slipping out of his clothes and casting them aside into a pile on the floor, one that Lestat’s own shirt and tie soon joined.

Louis’ hands stroked down his naked chest, neat nails leaving red welts in their wake.

He shifted his hips, and Lestat gasped as he felt Louis’ body shift past his stiffening cock, making it harden instantly so that it strained uncomfortably against the buttons of his trousers.

Louis felt it pressing against his thigh, and his eyes thinned slyly.

“You make a strong case,” he said, leaning back a slight, barely perceptible degree so that Lestat’s cock pressed into the hollow of his thigh. “If not lacking in finesse.”

Lestat gasped, his head swimming as all the blood swimming in his veins departed for southern climes. 

“All right,” Louis went on. “You’ve convinced me. You may.”

It was all Lestat needed to hear. He seized Louis by the hips, rolling him over and beneath him. They landed in a heap amongst the immaculate sheets and pillows. Lestat already had them halfway out of their trousers. He kicked his own pants off and came back to kiss Louis again, sliding his tongue past the imperfect barrier of his lips, probing the warm velvety cavern of his mouth.

Louis tilted his hips back, guiding Lestat to him without seeming to offer any aid at all. 

Burying a gasp in Louis’ pliant mouth, he thrust into him. Louis twisted up against him, slinging a slim arm around Lestat’s neck so that he could meet him stroke for stroke.

Lestat could hear nothing save for the hiss of Louis’ breath, the demure little murmurs that he stifled behind his hand. For the moment, even the incessant drone of the mass of humanity outside in the streets. 

It was just the two of them now. Just the two of them, as it had always been, while the world slid into darkness.

The din from outside filtered back into Lestat’s consciousness, a sustained cry that floated up to the penthouse, fading in like a radio station being dialed in from another dimension. It was louder than before, with an urgent intensity that Lestat had not heard until now. 

Beside him, Louis sat up in bed, stripping off the single sock that Lestat had missed in his urgency to undress them and tossing it onto the pile of clothes on the floor. Raking back his hair, Louis plucked up the remote the from the table beside the bed. He flipped on the television over the bed.

It took Lestat a moment to realize what he was seeing: A scattering of fireworks still dotted the sky, straggling sprays of color left over from the array. In the Square and the streets, all the way back as far as Central Park, the tension had broken. The rapt crowd had dispersed kisses and confetti, and now they were already breaking up, departing for somewhere warm.

“We missed it,” Louis said. 

“I’m sorry,” Lestat replied. “Should I have been faster?”

“I think you were more than sufficient.” Louis suddenly straightened up, and looked around the bedroom as if seeing it for the first time. “Well, we’re still here.”

“As comfortable as we have ever been.”

Lestat caught him by the chin, drawing Louis’ wandering eyes back to his own. Louis favored him with a kiss.

“Shall we try again in another thousand years?” Lestat asked.

“Yes,” Louis replied. “That’s plenty of time to get everything right.”


End file.
